Injuries be damned
by Beyond The Mat
Summary: John Cena tries to power through the pain at the gym. Suddenly, a wild luchador appears! Life uses botch. It's super-effective. Sometimes, you've just gotta laugh...


Disclaimer: We don't own anybody. We don't even own a replica Sin Cara mask.

* * *

Injuries be damned.

It's well documented that John's body has gone through hell and back. It's well documented that he's got degenerative disks, that his neck is hellish, and there are other issues going on.

But injuries be damned, he's not about to let these things get in his way. Especially now that he's entrusted to carry the WWE title again.

Trainers were his spotters, and his **_current routine_** had the trainers wincing, and giving vague 'threats' to tell Hunter and Vince how punishing that the regimen was.

"So tell 'em!" John said in an uncharacteristically confrontational tone. John knows his body. He knows his body's on borrowed time. There's no way except working through the pain to increase his mass while he still can.

Unless the strap is taken off of him and he's forcibly put on medical leave, this is how it is.

If any of the guys from work come in, he'd be surprised. He's keeping his home base of Boston for now. With the mass exodus of Superstars headed towards the NYC area, and the punishing routine he's doing, he's pretty sure that should those closest to him on the job, be they superiors or friends see what he's up to - and John doesn't fear the trainers. He's the face of the company - then he's pretty certain that he'd get his ass handed to him.

But not right now. Right now, he's in the zone, feeling the burn which is outweighing the chronic pain, and adding mass.

**Triple H**

"There's no talking to him when he's in there. And if he has an attitude like you say, then let him be. I'll have to catch him later. You gotta look at it from his perspective."

Hunter knew John's spot. To a degree, it worked. Works would be able to help, and John's ability to work through pain is what got him this far in the first place. He was dedicated, and the fact that he had the title again, he just couldn't go out there and lose the title. Couldn't be transitional. Not this time around. It was already established that whoever won the next money in the back briefcase would have that shot at him, and it would probably be instant stardom, for a few months if anything. Miz, Ziggler, it worked. They weren't going to stop now.

Hunter knew what it was like to have guys talking at him, instead of to him. Particularly when they're little 150 pound guys who write stories, or trainers who haven't really lifted anything since the early 2000s. Hunter would try to talk some sense to him, and maybe work some sort of schedule for him in the near future, but that would only be behind closed doors. As for now, it was set.

"Just tell him to get a hold of me. If not today, then just e-mail me." The looseness of the orders would let John know it wasn't trouble, and would keep the others guessing. Good, because they were far too curious for comfort most of the time, and that would only result in some dirt sheet getting a hold of the information.

**Alex Riley**

Today was a good day.

He had gotten word that he was getting back on TV at the next taping. With the part time talent finally packing their shit and leaving, it was extra space everywhere. And guess who had Fandango? He sure did. Which meant that he would finally be able to get some exposure with someone who actually meant something. And finally be off of NXT.

Then, he had heard word of Cena in the gym literally killing himself trying to get "better." He had his issues with Cena, and it was those issues that had him off of TV for a fucking year. He was on a high, too. And he was on his way to a push. As a face, those ain't easy to pull off, but he had it. He knew he was worth something, and he knew that the politics were always going to fuck it up for someone.

So he had been quiet.

But to see it happening was more satisfying than any rib he could of organized. He took the time to walk by the weights and everything. The gym was right next to the arena, but most of them were clearing out of course. He would follow, smiling the entire time. Smug or not, this was great. Maybe he'd rip something off the bone like Dwayne did. That would make everything worth it.

**Joshua Cena**

It was a bit scary to see his Dad look like that, considering the fact that he hadn't looked that big since Josh was like...six or seven. There was a point in time where John was bigger, believe it or not, around the time of his debut. As he got more and more popular, it started to vary. Sometimes he'd be fat, or not really defined at all. Pale or tanned, it all was a toss up. To see him look like that again, was more than intimidating. And he hadn't even done something worth trouble yet.

Well, he had. He had went on over to the arena alone, and gotten into the ring with some of the crew who set up the ring, and that was only to kill boredom. In his defense, John's rules were never too extensive, and since he was around so often, roaming around came with the territory. The last of the brand division was happening, so the other kids had been stuck at the Smackdown show, leaving him alone to find his own entertainment. He sneaked away, sure he was risking it with his Dad never working out this long.

Going back into the gym, it sort of hit him. The veins were much or obvious than before, and the weights seemed to almost double would he would usually lift. Now, John worked out a lot, but for him to be pushing it like that? It was weird. Josh knew of some of the injuries, but how hurt could he really be if he was lifting like that? It confused him all over again. Why would he even want to blow up like that.

He didn't say anything, but he did linger in the room. He figured if he didn't give John a reason to ask about anything, then nothing would have to be said. He grabbed a water bottle for himself, and set up camp on one of the benches in the back.

**John Cena**

If Josh thought it was a little scary seeing his father working it like this, hopefully he didn't notice the look shot in Riley's direction. And a muttered "the fuck is he even doing here," regarding Riley, to one of the trainers.

Yes, New England was the home of Titan Towers and the multimillion dollar estates of the McMahons and Levesques in Connecticut, and New England stretched up through Boston. So quite a few are still in this area, hence why trainers from the company are at this particular gym, at John's beck and call with just an hour or so advance notice.

But Riley?

They'd had something of an...incident...almost a year ago, backstage, and John could -feel- the smugness radiating off of that green punk bitch.

After yet another set of reps, the set that the trainers nor anybody in the gym who was watching thought could be completed, for even the strongest and healthiest of guys...and of course, a guy of John's size and intensity does tend to draw stares anyway...were finished SUCCESSFULLY, John sat up on the bench. Sat up ramrod straight and did not allow the grimace to pass his face.

"I'll call him now," he said, once told Hunter's loose "get in touch" statement. And he said so while throwing a smirk in Riley's direction. John just benched in one session what that punk doesn't do in two weeks.

He didn't follow the protocol and wipe down the equipment, which would probably only confuse/surprise Joshua; John was normally almost a fanatic about wiping up. But this gym, they were happy to clean up after a celebrity. The reason John didn't, is because bending like that right now would ensure a grimace and groan. Standing up straight was the easiest.

"Son, could you grab my bag, please? I gotta call my boss, then hit the shower." he asked. Maybe Riley would see that as degrading, like John was using his kid as bag boy, but it wasn't that. John simply couldn't bend but wasn't allowing that to be known publicly. Let Riley think John's a douche.

He thinks so anyway.

**Joshua Cena**

Being behind John, he didn't get to see the look that John shot at Alex. But he could tell by looking that something was just a little off. Watching him move like that...Something wasn't right. He'd been around John forever, he knew. It only took a second to see it, and it would probably be missed if you just didn't pay attention to small things. From the way John's posture usually was, to the way he walked, Josh saw how all of it was sort of off.

Mind you, with the extra mass, it was probably supposed to be off. But the fact that John just had this presence about him. He couldn't explain it, but he definitely knew it. But how do you exactly say something at all?

He grabbed the bag for his Dad, and handed it over, silent. He did take a moment to look at the new veins that were not almost popping out of John's arms after handing him the bag; it was odd because he just...Ignored it? Until now. Freaky stuff.

"You feeling okay?" He asked. He may or may not get a straight answer, but his expression alone may say that he knew that something was up.

Sin Cara

**Sin Cara**

Sin Cara entered the gym. He was wearing street clothes, but everybody would have to know it was him because of the mask.

That, plus, he was pointing at people. Not speaking a word (and certainly not a lick of English.)

He pointed greetings at Alex Riley, the trainers, John Cena, son of Cena, and any that looked his way. Well, any that he could see, since the mask somewhat hinders his vision.

A curiosity in public, there was something of a gathering as he sat at the leg machine. Pantomimes were the gestures between gym staff and Sin Cara. Ah! It was as if a light bulb went on over his head as the pantomimes made sense.

_So this is how you use the leg machine_, the message made clear through pictures.

Although a sickening "Aieeeeeeee!" would be heard moments later, when he botched, and got his toes caught under the plates.

It appears that even outside the ring, Botchamania runs wild, brother.

**John Cena**

(Wasn't this titled "Injuries be damned"? I can't. I can't even.)

What could John do but laugh? It was awful; it was horrible; it was hilarious.

"Feelin' fine now, God help us," he said, leaning a little toward Joshua's ear. This was awful. The trainers were up in arms. You could hear their voices going from whisper to outright yelling in disgust. "Dammit, Sin! Not again!"

All this made John just laugh harder. It was silent laughter, now. Of course, John's pain was kicking in and he might need one of those pissed-off trainers to give him a cortisone shot in his neck, but not now. Not when they're angry.

"Let's just hit the locker room," John said with a chuckle. Jesus, Sin.


End file.
